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Topic: [Tarlith]-Seven Suns (Read 31616 times)

Rhen Volmar staggered into Herolty. Dusty, sweaty, and tired, he looked as though he was in need of refreshment and shade. When he saw the Dirty Tankard alehouse, he decided that this was a place in which he could get both. He disappeared into the doorway.

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"And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, or the temples of his gods."

Kherbish entered the town at midday with the caravan that he had most recently been traveling with. As he took his leave of the caravan master, a rather portly man with a wandering eye, he seemed to notice a definite air of relief at his departure. The streets were not crowded, as the suns drove most indoors at this time of day, and Kherbish decided to follow their example. He spotted an alehouse, the Dirty Tankard, and headed towards it.

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"And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, or the temples of his gods."

Ss'kerswihpp Kha'nklun Gi'ndfer sat in one corner of his favorite seedy tavern. The Dirty Tankard was not overly busy this day, so there was ample notice when a human entered, and a half-elf a little afterward.

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"And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, or the temples of his gods."

Ss'kerswihpp made note of the newcomers, they may be his ticket out of here. Besides, what's the worst that could come from trying to make a few friends? He adjusted his neck-frill to make sure he was presentable, not that a human or half-elf would notice if his colors weren't showing properly, but it was important to him.

Making his way out of the dark corner; he may have been slightly frightening to those who had not seen a Bhuka before. Aware of this, he tried his best to stand up straight and attempted a smile. It came out a little creepy and crooked, but it would do.

He approached the human, and offered his waterskin, "The name's Ss'kerswihpp," He said in his low, goblin-like, voice. "What brings you newcomers," He looked at the Half-Elf as well, "to the Dirty Tankard?"

Kherbish inclined his head slightly. "Bhuka." He'd seen their kind before, and wasn't fond of them; but then, he figured, this one might have a little coin, so there was no hurt in playing nice. "Only passing through," he murmured in reply.

Passing through was all he could probably manage, judging by the dusty town. The small tavern - filthy, though not especially - was sparsely populated. It would be tough to make much coin here, even by subversive means. "Slow day here, I suppose," he commented, his halting but melodic Maidar accent spilling through. Perhaps in the evening, when the suns were not quite so hot, more souls might find their way into the bar.

With little interest in the pretentious Bhuka or the exhausted looking man for now, Kherbish muttered an excuse and found a comfortable corner of the bar, pulling his rebab from his sack. Resting the spike of the stringed instrument on his ankles, he plucked and tuned the strings in the proper Maidar - no, Northern Flats today - octaves. He dragged his bow across the instrument as his fingers danced on the strings, playing an slow, easy and crowd-pleasing tune. Perhaps when more folk arrived, he would change into his Maidar clothing to attract the eye of more customers, but for now, he would simply play.

The few locals seated at the bar gave scant notice to the tune, but the bartender seemed to take a liking to it, whistling off-key under his breath while wiping glasses with a rag. "What can I do you for?", he called over to Kherbish and Rhen, "Need a drink?"

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"And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, or the temples of his gods."

Rhen took measure of the figure before him, leaning heavily on the bar to feign fatigue. Sure, he was tired and hungry, but Rhen had spent the last two decades under a scorching sun learning how to conserve his strength. He also realized in that time that even the most innocent of intentions can be a mask for treachery. Better to your cards close than to show your hand, as they say. Rhen did, however, stand up straight and accepted the bhuka's canteen. He glanced around the room, taking note of the other patrons. The tavern was sparsely populated. The elf - no, too human for a full blooded elf - sat in a corner plucking some string instrument. As he allowed himself to listen to the tune, he found it strangely soothing, as if his weariness started to disappear. His focus snapped back to the bhuka, whose bared teeth behind a misshapen but seemingly sincere smile demanded attention. Rhen's lips touched the cool liquid in the waterskin, and he pretended to take a long sip. "Thank you, Ss'ker...", he replied as he handed back the container, and cleared his throat when he couldn't quite repronounce the name. "My name is Rhen. Do you always offer drinks to weary strangers?"

"I'm just trying to be... Friendly" His smile broadened, showing a few more pointed teeth. "You don't look like those who normally pass through, merchants and the like, and I might be able to use your help."

Ss'kerswihpp wasn't too happy with the way this was going, he may need to wait for the next batch of newcomers to get out of here. He just needed to keep them away from the regulars, they would certainly foil his plans.

"Come, come with me." He tried to lead Rhen to his favorite corner, he gestured to a seat. "Sit, relax. That barkeep has offered you a drink, what do you want? I shall get it for you."

Kherbish continued the song, keeping his head tilted toward the instrument but his eyes toward the man and the Bhuka. Something irritated him about their conversation, like something was amiss just outside of his perception. One of them - perhaps both - was up to something. The feeling came perhaps from a lifetime of being up to something, and the various number of something the Maidar half-elf expected himself to soon be up to. As he flowed into the next song, setting the bow aside to pluck the strings into a traditional waltz, he kept a close eye on the two strangers.

Rhen’s eyes unconsciously narrowed at the bhuka’s offer. An invitation to relax is usually a precursor to trouble. Were bhukas always this forward? He hadn’t met any before in his time, but Rhen knew plenty of scoundrels and swindlers whose first tactic was to make a mark as comfortable as possible.

Then again, there’s no harm in hearing him out, Rhen thought. He’d simply stay on his guard. Rhen ordered a mug of local mead, then followed the bhuka to the corner, instinctively keeping one hand on the hilt of his dagger beneath his cloak. Throwing back his hood and removing the scarf from his neck, he sat across from his host, back to the wall.

“I admit, it’s not often one finds such hospitality, at least in my travels. It seems everyone has an angle. But I’m curious; you know nothing of me. What makes you think I can help you?”

Xanathur quietly slipped into the tavern, he leaned against the wall. He felt quite comfortable with the feel of his bow and blade slung over his shoulder. His robes had kept off the heat, but the dark and cool of the building was relaxing. He crossed his arms and scanned the room for those who would make trouble. His search yielded little, a few oddities, including an oddly, friendly looking bhuka. He calmly strode to the bar and offered the barkeep a quite dusty silver coin, one of the few he had left. "Give me one of your best" he rasped. He returned to his corner with drink in hand, as he did not always bring out the best in people. He rarely treated with people and they did not always take kindly to him, as he was a loner and had lived as an outcast in the wastelands most of his life.

« Last Edit: March 27, 2009, 08:25:25 PM by The Spiritborn »

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Those who walk the shadows, tread a very narrow path between darkness and light. This path will reveal all.

The stranger, interrupted by Xanathur's coin, left the bar and walked toward the door. As he was about to leave, the man took a roll of hide out of his satchel and nailed it to the wall beside the door with a sharp rap from his fist on the nail-head. He then walked out of the door.

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"And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, or the temples of his gods."

Kherbish watched as he played: the man entering the bar and speaking with the keeper, the armed sand-walker's entrance, the first man putting some sort of message near the door. His interest was piqued, and with few seeming to even bother notice his playing, Kherbish quickly finished the waltz and placed his rebab back into its bag. "Nökür," he said purposely using the Maidar (it kept town-dweller folk on their toes to hear elven tongues), "I'll take that drink now, if you please." As he approached the bar, the examined the hide scroll hanging from the wall.

"Fine, fine", the barkeep smiled widely, "First drink's always on the house, at least when no one's buying them." He gave a great laugh at his joke as he pulled a couple of drinks and handed them out; one to Xanathur, ignoring his coin, and the other to Kherbish. "So, my musical friend, what brings you to my fine establishment this day?"

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"And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, or the temples of his gods."

Kherbish tipped his mug in a toast at the barkeep. "Only seeking a few days of peace before taking to the sands again," he replied before throwing back a swig of the drink. "Herolty is as fine a place as any to stop. It has its charms..." he paused and smirked slightly. "And its troubles, if rumors are true." He sipped again, letting the innuendo-laden phrase settle in the room; he hadn't heard any actual rumors, but in a town like Herolty, gossip or even the insinuation of it was usually the best source of news.

He glanced at the robed fighter who had entered minutes before. A true warrior, by the look of him, calm and yet on edge, the tools of his trade casually displayed. "And you, Nökür," Kherbish asked, purposely turning his back toward the Bhuka and his new companion, "what finds you here? Repose, or adventure?"

Xanathur retracted his proffered coin before speaking to the stranger. "A short respite, though adventure would be welcomed. I have not had a chance to use this blade for quite some time. I would greatly appreciate the chance to make some gold" He could barely feel his very light coin pouch resting on his hip. "I think the man who just left may have wanted to say something. At any rate he left a message on the wall. Perhaps it will lead us on to a quest." He then walks over to read the animal-hide scroll.

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Those who walk the shadows, tread a very narrow path between darkness and light. This path will reveal all.

Ss'kerswihpp seemed distracted by the nailing of a notice and annoyed with the half-elf who apparently wanted nothing to do with him.

"I, uh, yes. I think you can help me, but you're not special. Simply the first newcomer to talk to a Bhuka like me. I mean no harm, I just need to get out of this place and find employment elsewhere." He looked like he wanted to get up and read the scroll. Ss'kerswihpp was very curious, as most Bhuka are.

Kherbish snickered. "A quest? I am no crusader. I merely need a job." He quickly read the scroll from behind Xanathur. "Mm. Standing under the seven suns for long spells while keeping off nomads and raiders. A fine job for you, Nökür, though I wonder how much help I would be." Kherbish didn't forget the rapier at his side, nor the bow and quiver hidden in his pack. He didn't relish combat much, not unless it was fighting over something interesting like women or money. If business was slow, he might have to reconsider the proposition, however.

The barkeep overheard Kherbish's comment and called back, "Those caravans always give good tips to anyone who can play worth spit. You might want to go along just for the coin you could earn of evenings". He gave a hearty laugh and went on cleaning his mugs.

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"And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, or the temples of his gods."

"Well it sounds like a good amount of gold is involved. I'm in for certain. I will pay this merchant Alm-Alhred a visit later this evening, for now I wait" He took a good slurp from his beer mug before returning to his corner and sitting down to watch events unfold.

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Those who walk the shadows, tread a very narrow path between darkness and light. This path will reveal all.

"Ah, well spoken, barkeep," Kherbish nodded. "I do not normally like putting my hide on any caravan that needs guards, but unless you get more customers yourself, I may have to join up!" He matched the barkeep's laugh. "Very well, then. I shall accompany you, perhaps hide behind your blade when need be," he said to the robed warrior. "They shall speak great things of us, Kherbish the Bard and... What was your name again?"